Risking It All (26 page)

Kennedy giggled at the image.

“Don’t laugh at me. You’ll make me cry again,” Vanessa warned and then laughed. “When do you get home? I miss you.”

“In a couple of days. I told Ryder I’d be gone for a little over a week, and he’s already leaving me needy messages.”

“Do you want to know what I think you should do?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve me spilling my guts, I’m all ears.”

“I think you should come home early. And it’s not for purely selfish reasons that I think that. Yes, I’m terrified to go into labor by myself and need you here in case Joe is at work, but I also think you need to get away from the whole thing and just think. None of this is fair to you or Memphis or Brooks. You need to figure it out, sweetie.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Let me know what you decide, okay? I gotta pee. You know, if I can get up. Something for you to remember—when you’re nine months’ pregnant, don’t ever sit down because there’s a good chance you’ll never be able to get back up.”

Kennedy laughed.

“Okay. Love you. Hold that baby in until I get back.”

“Easy for you to say. Your bladder isn’t being used as a squeeze toy. Love you.”

Kennedy disconnected and continued to stare up at the ceiling. She pondered what Vanessa had said, weighing the pros and cons about leaving early. After what seemed like hours of going back and forth, she dug around in her bag for her flight information and called the airline. With a heavy heart she made the flight arrangements for the next day and then curled up into a ball on the bed and pulled the covers over her head, hoping to block out the world.

The bed dipped as Memphis crawled in next to her hours later, waking her from a restless sleep.

She kept her back to him, her red, puffy eyes hidden in the dark. She didn’t pull away when he pulled her over to his side and hugged her to his body. She let the tears fall again, silent this time as she listened to his breathing and felt his lips in her hair.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” she told him, her throat sore from the hours of crying. “I think it’s best.”

Memphis pulled her even closer to him. She waited for him to say something—to ask her to stay, or to tell her he was sorry and that he was wrong for walking out. That he should have stayed and talked to her.

Kennedy wanted him to tell her what he was thinking, swallow his pride—or fear, if that’s what it was—and tell her the truth about how he felt about her. She wanted to know why he was jealous of other men all of a sudden. She wanted him to tell her what he planned to do about the two of them when they got back home.

She needed to know that this wasn’t it—that they were better than this.

But when he did speak, it wasn’t to tell her any of that.

“Okay.”

She died a little inside in that moment, wrapped in the arms of the only person who had ever made her feel alive.

Chapter 14

Kennedy stumbled into her apartment blurry eyed and all cried out late the next afternoon. She dropped her bags by the door, kicked off her shoes, and fell into bed, where she stayed the rest of the day.

    Memphis had driven her to the airport early that morning, neither one sure what to say or how to say it. She had stopped at the front desk before leaving and asked if they could ship her painting to Vancouver. Piper assured her it wouldn’t be a problem and she’d send it out ASAP.

She had told Memphis not to bother parking and to just drop her off. It was the first time she had spoken since getting into the vehicle and he seemed surprised at her request.

“There’s no point in you staying and waiting with me, Memphis,” she told him. “I’m a big girl. I can find my flight all by myself.”

He did as she asked, throwing the truck out of gear roughly and slipping out of the cab to grab her luggage from the back.

Kennedy watched him in the side mirror as he grabbed the bag, his lips set in a firm line. She sighed and grabbed her purse, opening the door and getting out.

Memphis set her suitcase on the sidewalk next to the truck and shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes darting over everything but her.

“Memphis.” She pleaded with him to look at her and not let this be the way they said good-bye.

“What the hell do you want me to say, Kennedy?” he asked, glancing at her before looking away again.

“That you’ll call me when you get home and I’ll see you soon,” she answered simply.

“You know you will.”

Kennedy watched him for a moment before grabbing her bag and turning to leave.

“Kennedy?”

She turned back and he pulled her into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She blinked back tears and nodded.

“Thank you for this, Memphis. The trip . . . everything. It’s been amazing. Thank you for giving that to me.”

Memphis pulled away and slipped his finger under her chin, lifting her face to his. His lips were soft and gentle, and Kennedy closed her eyes, giving her mouth over to his once more before breaking away and hurrying inside the terminal.

She’d wept quietly most of the flight, the passenger next to her occasionally shooting her worried looks before finally asking if she was all right. Kennedy had forced herself to bite back the snarky remark that had been on the tip of her tongue. Did she look like she was fucking all right? Her face looked like a punching bag, her throat was so sore she could barely talk, and her nose wouldn’t stop running. But yes, she was fine.

She thought being at home would help, but the quiet just reminded her of how alone she really was and how much she missed Memphis.

Kennedy rolled over and stared at the picture of them together on her nightstand.

Everything had become so fucked up and she wasn’t even sure how. It wasn’t just because of the sex. They had been fine up until last night when she had told him what was going on between them was nothing. If only Memphis would talk to her instead of blowing it off and acting like an ass about it.

Or maybe she should have stepped up, grown some balls, and told him the truth.

Kennedy threw off the blankets and went to the kitchen in search of comfort food. An empty refrigerator stared back at her, but buried way in the back of her freezer was a pint of good old, fattening, mocha chocolate swirl ice cream.

She popped off the lid, grabbed a spoon, and retreated to the couch. She flipped through the channels when she wasn’t shoving her face full of the calorie-packed goodness, but all that seemed to litter her television were romantic comedies. Kennedy made a face, clicked off the set, and concentrated on cleaning every scoop of ice cream out of the carton.

As she licked off the spoon, she suddenly wished she had a cat, a dog, maybe a bird. Hell, even a fish would make her feel less lonely.

She plopped the empty carton on the end table and stared at the blank television screen. Now what? She wasn’t tired. She didn’t feel like going anywhere. There was nothing to watch and she was so damn tired of thinking.

She picked up the remote again and started channel surfing for something to do when her phone rang. Kennedy slowly reached for the cordless and stared at the phone as it continued to blare at her. She cursed herself for not having a house phone with caller ID.

She waited two more rings before answering.

“Hello?”

“You weren’t answering your cell,” Memphis said. “Thought maybe something was wrong.”

“My cell is off. I forgot to turn it on when I landed,” she told him, muting the television and curling her legs underneath her. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“Why? I told you I’d call.”

“Is that the only reason you did? Because you said you would?”

“No.” Memphis went quiet for so long she thought the connection had been lost. “I need to ask you something.”

Kennedy swallowed over the lump that had risen in her throat hearing those six words.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“And I need the truth no matter what it is,” he added.

“Okay.”

“When you said all this week was us . . . succumbing to our desires, as you put it, did you mean that? Is that all you thought of us?”

“No,” she confessed barely above a whisper. “That wasn’t what I thought at all.”

“But you thought that’s all it was to me?”

“I . . .” Kennedy shook her head and gripped the phone tighter. “I didn’t know. I still don’t know what it all was to you.”

“What did it mean to you?” he asked.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she suddenly felt short of breath as fear clawed at her stomach at the thought of telling him the truth.

“Memphis . . .” Kennedy dropped her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

“You said you’d tell me the truth,” he reminded her.

“Everything,” she breathed. “It meant everything to me.” 

He stayed quiet, and she chewed on her lip, worried what that meant. 

“What did it mean to you?” she finally found the courage to ask.

“Have you talked to Brooks?” 

Kennedy picked at the couch arm and frowned at the question, annoyed that he changed the subject and didn’t give her anything in return for her answer. 

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Kennedy clamped her teeth together in frustration and silently screamed every curse word she knew.

He thought it was so simple to answer his questions, yet when she turned them around on him, he changed the subject to something just as difficult to answer. Yes, she should tell Brooks. But if she was going to end things with him anyway, then was there really any reason to confess? Wouldn’t she be hurting him ten times more by telling him?

The guilt would eat away at her if she stayed with him, and then she’d have to fess up to her Alaskan tryst with Memphis. If she was going to walk away, then what was the big deal? Did he really need to know? But didn’t she owe it to him and their relationship to be honest with him? Didn’t he have a right to know what had gone on and why she wanted to break things off?

“I don’t know,” she answered sheepishly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

“You don’t know what you’re going to tell him, or you don’t know what you’re going to do?” Memphis asked.

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell him.”

“Does that mean you know what you’re going to do?”

“Yes, I think so.” She sighed. “It’s not working between us anymore; it hasn’t been for a while now. Being with you in Alaska made that all the more clear. I wouldn’t . . .”

“What? You wouldn’t what?” he pressed.

“I wouldn’t have let things go as far as they did between us if I loved him anymore.”

“So you’re ending it?”

“Yes.”

He was silent again and then said, “I’ll see you when I get back, Kennedy.”

Her lips curved against the phone.

“Okay.”

“And just so you know,” he added, “it meant everything to me, as well.”

~*~

Kennedy practically skipped into the gallery the next day, still on cloud nine from her phone call with Memphis. It was true he hadn’t come right out and told her that he was on the same page as she was when it came to how she felt, but what he
did
say made the grin stay permanently attached to her face.

“Good morning, Ryder!” She beamed as she dropped into one of the lush, oversized chairs in his office.

Ryder lifted his eyes off the printout in front of him and arched an eyebrow at her cheery disposition. 

“Alaska was good, I take it?”

“Alaska, my friend, was amazing.”

Ryder sat back in his office chair and rolled the pen between his fingers as he observed her with an amused smile on his face.

“You’re positively glowing,
chére
.”

“The land of ice and snow agrees with me, I guess.”

“Hmm. Or the company you had with you does.”

Kennedy shrugged him off as she reached into her purse and pulled out a business card.

“I come bearing gifts for you, Ryder,” she said, sliding the card across the desk. “That is the contact information for an artist in Alaska.”

Ryder plucked the card off the desk and quickly glanced at the writing. He looked at Kennedy and waved it in front of her.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Call him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s fabulous,” Kennedy said. “I stopped in at his gallery while I was up there, and his work is unbelievable. He gave me one of his paintings that I’m having shipped home. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

Ryder smirked and tossed the card on the desk.

“Kennedy, if he can afford to give one of his paintings away then they’re not worth buying.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust my artistic eye?” she asked, surprised at his attitude.

“No. But he’s a small town artist—”

“And I’m just a waitress.” She glared at him.

Ryder pursed his lips and played along with her staring contest for a few seconds before reaching out and picking up the card again.

“You are my masterpiece,” he told her. “And if you say this guy is good, I’ll give him a call. After you show me the painting.”

“Fine.”

He tucked the card away in his desk, pulling out another paper as he did and passing it to Kennedy.

“What’s this?” she asked, scanning the names on the page.

“Those are all the people who have called since your show wanting to know where they can get this painting or that one,” he said, watching her carefully for her reaction.

“Really?” Kennedy’s voice pitched in surprise.

“Really.” Ryder set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his folded hands. “The sculpture drew the most interest.”

Kennedy stopped reading and stared at the page.

“It did?”

“Yes. I’ve had many people tell me how moving and powerful it was. You wouldn’t believe some of the numbers that have been thrown at me for it.”